“How?”
“That’s the problem,” she admitted, and inadvertently glanced upward. The other saucer had left an hour ago in a plume of rocket exhaust, on its way into orbit or back to earth. Or, perhaps, leaving the area so that it could reenter later and try to ambush her and Rip, one more time. She wished she knew which of the three possibilities was the fact.
Rip seemed to read her thoughts. “You must have hurt him badly,” he said.
“Umm.”
“Flying across the antimatter stream at point-blank range—something must have popped in that saucer. Telling the saucer to pull up and fire the rocket engines may have been Lalouette’s last conscious thought. He might be dead. The saucer might orbit the sun forever, or eventually fall into it.”
“I hope he’s on his way back to earth,” Charley Pine said, and meant it. She had liked Jean-Paul.
“I wish he’d crashed back there in that canyon,” Rip shot back. “Then we’d know.”
After thinking through the possibilities one more time, she said, “I think we should wait for a while.”
“He may return,” Rip mused. “An hour from now, a week, two weeks, whenever. He could be stalking us right now.”
“If Lalouette comes back when we’re out of this ship, he’ll destroy it.” Charley knew she could expect no mercy from the French pilot. “You and I and Egg will die here on the moon.”
“That’s right,” he said, and turned his head to look at her.
She met his eyes. “So how long do you want to wait before we go get Egg?”
AFTER ANOTHER HALF HOUR, THE MAN STANDING BESIDE the carcass of the radio tower disappeared from view. Rip and Charley decided he had gone back inside the base. Charley was in the pilot’s seat. She lifted the saucer, and they flew slowly, as low as they dared, toward the base. The sun was well down toward the horizon. In another forty-eight hours or so it would set and the two-week lunar night would begin.
They looked for the dome over the antigravity beam generator and didn’t see it. Finally they saw the hole, several hundred yards away. The dome was open.
“That’s my way in,” Rip said.
“And what do you want me to do?”
They were discussing it when they saw a knot of six people in space suits walk out of the shadow of the base air lock into the sun.
“There’s our reception committee.” They quickly lowered the saucer out of sight.
After a brief discussion, they donned their space suits, each helping the other. That’s when Charley remembered that Rip had never before worn a space suit. She made him finger every control and explained how everything worked.
“The outer shell is the protective cover, very hard to damage. But under it is the pressure suit, and it can be torn or ripped. The tiniest leak will kill you. Now here’s the dangerous part—a fall that won’t tear the outer shell may still damage the pressure suit.”
“Oh, that’s comforting.”
“If the pressure suit is damaged, there will never be any little Cantrells.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Remember the first time you and I crawled into this saucer and tried to fly it?”
“Sure.”
“This is not that risky.”
“I hate to tell you this, lady, but I’m older now, not as carefree and stupid as I was when I was young.” A whole year had passed since he found the saucer. “I don’t even buy lottery tickets these days.”
“Right.”
“Was that a Freudian thing, that mention of little Cantrells?”
“Well, I was thinking, maybe someday …”
He kissed her, gently and tenderly.
Charley found she had an eye that was leaking and swabbed at it, then clamped her helmet on her head.
With the helmets on and latched to the suits, they turned on the helmet radios. French sounded in their ears. Charley understood most of it. She touched her helmet to Rip’s and said, “That’s Julie. She’s outside.”
“What’s she saying?”
“She’s telling them to stand easy. We’ll be along.”
“I feel like a sausage in this thing,” Rip said.
“That’s good. When you don’t, you’re in big trouble.”
Rip put three hand grenades in the small belly pocket of his space suit. Getting the pins out with his gloves on would be difficult, but it could be done. There were two M-16 rifles. Charley loaded them both, chambered rounds and put the weapons on safe. She showed Rip how they worked, then asked, “Are you ready?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Yes.”
They pulled on their gloves and zipped them to the sleeves of the suits. After each of them checked the other one last time, Charley told the saucer to extend its landing gear, then to land. It settled several feet and came to rest.
When all motion had stopped, she depressurized the ship. Air was pumped from the interior of the saucer into a pressure tank. Finally, when the interior of the saucer was at a near vacuum, Rip opened the belly hatch. He felt a tiny rush of air as the last of it escaped from the ship. He dropped through the open hatchway and stood in it.
Charley gave him a thumbs-up. He blew her a kiss, then closed the hatch behind him.
“MR. PRESIDENT,” P.J. O’REILLY SAID, “WE’VE GOT audio from the moon. Apparently they are outside the base in space suits and talking to one another.”
The president was still at the “secret, undisclosed location.” He brightened. “I thought we couldn’t hear anything from the moon.” The folks on earth had heard nothing from the moon since the radio tower there went down. And they didn’t know why.
“Space suit helmet transmissions are only a few watts. We can normally hear them only when they are picked up and rebroadcast by the base’s transmitters, which are apparently off the air. We’re getting these signals from the National Radio Astronomy Observatory’s hundred-meter telescope in Greenbank, West Virginia. The moon is above the horizon now, and they have the telescope aimed at the lunar base.”
“Let’s listen,” the president said.
O’Reilly picked up the phone. After a few words, he listened, nodded and punched the buttons so they could hear the audio on the speakerphone. Then he hung up the handset.
Voices speaking French filled the office.
“Get a translator,” the president said. “I want to know what’s going on up there.”
RIP CANTRELL CAREFULLY WALKED AWAY FROM THE saucer. In the reduced lunar gravity the trick was keeping his balance, he decided. He had to work carefully at it. He was a hundred feet away from the saucer when it lifted off in a swirl of dust. He turned to look. He could see Charley’s helmeted head in the pilot’s seat. He waved and she waved back. After the saucer had moved off, he watched the dust settling. It sifted slowly down undisturbed by the slightest breeze.
He watched the saucer go around the base, pass over the remains of the radio tower and settle onto the lava bed in front of the main air lock.
Then he walked toward the gaping hole in the top of the cavern that held the antigravity beam generator.
He paused near the edge and approached it carefully. The cavern was lit—but he couldn’t see if there was anyone in it. Nor did he know if the beam generator was in use. Better find out, he thought. He stooped, picked up a pebble, and tossed it across the hole. It sailed across like a baseball thrown from the outfield. They’re not using it, he concluded. If they were, that little rock would have soared up out of sight, like a pebble caught in a torrent from a fire hose.
Now he needed to know if there was anyone in the control room. He laid the rifle down, got to his hands and knees and began crawling toward the edge.
THE SAUCER CAME INTO VIEW OF THE SMALL CROWD standing in front of the air lock from their right. It was low, only ten feet or so above the surface, and moved slowly, trailed by a cloud of dust.
They had been waiting for it, yet they were surprised when it appeared. “It’s not Lalouette!” someone shouted into his h
elmet microphone. “The saucer is too small.”
“Oui,” Julie agreed bitterly.
“THEY MADE IT!” O’REILLY EXCLAIMED TRIUMPHANTLY when he heard the translation. “Rip and Charley made it!”
“Umm,” said the president.
O’Reilly couldn’t sit still. He bounded from his chair and paced the small office. The president kept his gaze riveted on the speaker of the telephone, waiting.
18
RIP LEANED HIS HEAD OVER THE EDGE OF THE HOLE. The floor of the cavern was at least twenty feet below. Right in the middle was the beam generator. Wow, it was big.
He felt for the hand grenades. They were there. He pulled the Velcro loose that held the pocket closed and reached for one.
French exploded in his earphones. At first he thought someone below had seen him; then he realized that the people outside in space suits had probably seen Charley.
He raised his head, just in time to see the saucer settling below his horizon.
No grenade! Dropping one on the beam generator wouldn’t get Egg back. Better stick with the plan.
He lowered his head, trying to see what was on the opposite side of the cavern. And did. It was rock.
More French assaulted his ears. They were certainly excited. They had to have the saucer if they ever expected to see trees and grass again in their lives. He had emphasized that point to Charley, who had merely nodded.
She had brains and guts—more than he did, he thought—so he let it go at that. She could handle it.
He backed up, stood carefully and hopped around the edge of the hole ninety degrees, then got down on his hands and knees and crawled in for another look.
This time he saw the glass panels and the control console beyond. And there was no one there!
Rip moved and took another look. Finally he was satisfied that he had seen the entire layout and the cavern and control room were indeed empty.
He went back and picked up the rifle, checking that the safety was on.
Hoo boy.
The gravity was only one-sixth as strong as earth’s. Charley had told him that. So a twenty-foot fall would be equivalent to a three-and-a-half-foot drop. Heck, it’ll be like jumping off a picnic table. Only he was wearing this zoot suit, and if it tore—Well, hell, nobody lives forever.
Standing erect, holding the rifle in both hands, Rip shuffled to the edge of the hole, took a deep breath and jumped.
CHARLEY PINE BROUGHT THE SAUCER INTO A HOVER fifty feet beyond the six people standing in front of the base air lock. She pointed the saucer right at the air lock door.
One of the figures was rotund, wearing a space suit that looked to be under severe stress around the middle. Egg! There was a person immediately beside him on the right and left. Both held what appeared to be pistols in their hands.
Charley reached up to her helmet and keyed the mike.
“Is that you, Uncle Egg?” she asked in English.
The heavyset figure reached for his helmet. “It’s me, Charley.”
“Ah, Mademoiselle Pine, welcome back to the moon.” That was a feminine voice in French. Julie Artois.
“English, please,” Charley said.
“We must talk, Ms. Pine,” Julie said, shifting languages.
“You people stay right where you are. Don’t move.”
She looked at her watch. She wanted to give Rip at least fifteen minutes to get inside before she landed. She looked carefully around, at the parked forklift for off-loading spaceplanes, at the small lunar ATV, at the rocks behind, anywhere that might conceal a man. And saw no one.
Which didn’t mean no one was there.
RIP FELL WHEN HE HIT THE CAVERN FLOOR. HE HAD tried to catch himself by bending his knees, but he misjudged it and bounced in slow motion. Then he toppled sideways and was unable to right himself. He landed the second time on his shoulder, bounced again and this time used a hand to cushion the impact. He managed to hang on to the rifle. His motion was heavily restricted by the pressure the suit put on his limbs. He struggled to stand erect, then stood looking into the control room.
It was empty of people, thank heavens! Any semidangerous villain who witnessed his ignominious arrival would have died laughing.
The air lock to the control room was tempting, but he ignored it. He stepped over to the beam generator and inspected it carefully.
That was when he heard Charley and Egg speaking.
At least Egg wasn’t dead or injured. That simplified the problem, he told himself. He wouldn’t have to cram Egg into a space suit and carry him to the saucer.
EGG CANTRELL THOUGHT THE SAUCER LOOKED OMINOUS hovering stationary and motionless above the lava bed. The sun behind them gleamed off the dark surface and made it difficult to see through the canopy. Impossible, really.
Julie was on his right with her pistol in her hand, Fry Two on his left. These other people he didn’t know. Pierre hadn’t come out.
He felt terrible, hung over from the drugs they had given him to keep him sedated, and guilty because he had gotten Rip and Charley into this fix. Here they were, face-to-face with these murderous megalomaniacs.
Someone, Egg well knew, was going to die soon. He closed his eyes and prayed that it wouldn’t be Charley or his nephew Rip.
“WHAT’S GOING ON?” O’REILLY ASKED IMPATIENTLY. HE found the radio silence difficult to endure. He directed the question to the translator, a young woman from an Ivy League university who didn’t look the least impressed with her august company. She was chewing gum and occasionally running her fingers through her hair. She didn’t answer O’Reilly’s question, merely stared blankly at him. He resumed his nervous pacing.
The president sat behind his desk with his fingers laced across his tummy and his eyes closed. He couldn’t fool O’Reilly—the chief of staff had seen him like this numerous times when he was digging deep for tact or patience. One of the drawbacks to public life, in O’Reilly’s opinion, was the fact that politicians spent much of their time seeking votes from the ill-informed and the uninformed. Those unable to deal gracefully with fools never got into office or were soon voted out. In fact, the president had once confided to O’Reilly that he owed his political success to his ability to spend hours surrounded by idiots without biting one. O’Reilly was made of different stuff, a fact of which he was well aware. Still …
“It would be nice to know what was going on,” the chief of staff remarked to a painting on the wall.
The painting didn’t answer.
RIP CANTRELL EXAMINED THE BEAM GENERATOR closely. The panels on the base of the unit fastened with wing nuts; he quickly opened them and took a look. The major components he recognized. There was no doubt that this unit had been designed based on saucer technology.
The power cables that led into the unit were as thick as Rip’s wrist and were clearly marked: positive and negative. They were attached with clamps, which were held on with nuts. He tried to turn one of the nuts with his fingers. Nope.
There must be a toolbox around here somewhere!
He scanned the cavern—and saw it, placed against the wall.
He had it open in seconds. Found a wrench that looked about the right size.
His earphones were silent. Ominously silent. As Rip worked on the nuts he nervously eyed the door to the control room, another air lock door.
The job took two minutes. It was simple, really. He undid both clamps and reversed the wires, then tightened the nuts and replaced the panel.
He replaced the wrench in the toolbox, closed it and went into the air lock.
“MADEMOISELLE PINE, WE ARE TIRED OF WAITING,” Julie Artois said firmly.
Charley estimated that she had been in position for about ten minutes. She had the antimatter reticle squarely on Julie’s chest. She was tempted. If the clown on the other side of Egg hadn’t had a gun, she would have zapped Julie then and there, splattered her all over, and told Egg to run for it.
She sighed. It wasn’t going to be that easy. Yet it wouldn�
�t hurt to make them sweat. She turned the saucer ever so slightly and let the reticle rest for fifteen seconds or so on the chest of each of the people with Egg. The maneuvering of the saucer was minute, but she thought they would see it.
Finally she stopped and lowered the saucer to the ground. Dust swirled up, almost obscuring her view of the people, but not quite. She waited until it settled, then opened the hatch and dropped through. She quickly scrambled out from under the saucer, then told it to lift off. It rose twenty feet in the air and stopped there.
She turned to face the reception committee.
THE AIR LOCK ADMITTED RIP TO THE CONTROL ROOM. He wasted no time examining the control console but went straight to the air lock that led into the heart of the lunar base and stepped inside. He closed the door behind him, checked the pressure gauge on the bulkhead and carefully removed his gloves and helmet. He sniffed. The air smelled fine. With the gloves dangling from his wrists by straps and the helmet under his left arm, he checked the position of the safety, then pointed the rifle in front of him and pushed the button to open the inner door of the lock.
The opening door revealed an empty corridor with gray rock walls, one brilliantly lit by ceiling lights every few yards. He could hear the faint strains of an orchestra, classical music, coming over the loudspeaker system.
CHARLEY PINE LEFT HER RIFLE IN THE SAUCER. IT would have detracted from the aura of confidence she was trying to project. She took a deep breath, then marched forward to the little group. She glanced back at the hovering saucer. As she thought it would, the sun glinting off the canopy prevented anyone from seeing inside.
She stopped a few feet in front of them, keyed the mike button on the side of her helmet and said in English, “I assume that none of you people are interested in living out the remainder of your lives on this round rock pile. Correct me if I’m wrong.”
Saucer: The Conquest Page 24